Rainbow's End - Wizard (39 page)

A bitter wind sometimes blew in gusts across the whitened landscape and into the forest
; howling between the thick old trunks and cold enough to leave a dusting of frost on lichen and moss. For the first time in centuries, the dwarves built their fire into a huge pyre, and used it not just for light, but also for its warmth. They clustered around to warm their small hands; and during the day, slept wrapped in thick blankets and furs, each in his or her own hollow, beneath the massive roots of an ancient tree…

The Fairies hid in their holl
owed-out tree trunks and their giant toadstools, and the Little People only started work after it had stopped snowing at night.

*

To the children the snow had been a novelty at first, and many a snowball fight was waged the first couple of days. They lessened and then stopped, quite abruptly; leaving the valley with only its white blanket and its bitter wind; and noseless snowmen in various stages of disintegration, whose carrots had been stolen by enterprising rabbits.

The once grassy banks of the Rainbow Pool
had been churned into a yellowish-brown sludge, the result of hundreds of small feet (now in boots), having trodden down from the cave to stand around, miserably gazing into the icy water which, until so recently, had given so much pleasure. To one side lay a huge pile of half-covered-with-snow rubbish; the Rainbow was not there to transport it to the sun. From down the cliff face, irrepressible, the waterfall continued to feed the pool with life…

*

Big John was repairing the cracked box of the violin that had lain for so long next to the chess set. It, and the tools, were just toys in his large but loving hands, and he wished that it were as simple to mend a broken heart. His curtain had been left open, and fluffy-white snowflakes fell on his lake; at once melting into, and becoming part of the water…

*

Edith and Maggie were having hot chocolate in the dining room. They had hoped to surprise Arnold, but the always jocular chef had on this day simply set a cup of steaming liquid in front of each of them, and then returned to another table where he plonked himself down, and continued shelling peas, morosely muttering, “soup, soup, soup…”

*

Annie and Frieda had a hard time coming up with new games and things for the bored, and suddenly limited children to do: to the extent that Frieda sometimes felt relieved about Edith being there to attend to Maggie. It was exhausting work to change the huge warehouse into an ice rink, and then a football field, and next an indoor cricket pitch, and a baseball diamond…

*

The air inside the cottage was frigid with cold, and stale; and smelling of damp. The rain - more sleet this past week, had stopped just minutes ago, but Orson hadn’t noticed, didn’t care. He was staring at a large framed photo on top of his dead television set. It was an enlargement of the one on the first page of Thomas’ album: a laughing Rose with grey in her dark hair, small crinkles in the corners of her flashing, dark eyes, strong jaw thrust forward, challenging, resolute. “I send you a boy Orson, our boy. A good boy… Make him a good man…” she had written.

Tears were brimming his eyes again, but he ignored them. He’d cried a lot this last week, but couldn’t give a damn.

*

At Ariana’s Pool the wate
r had a thin layer of beginners frost along its sides. The ferns hung limply, with their frond ends in the freezing water, turning yellow. The Talking Rock was covered in a layer of snow almost a foot thick; and the golden finch and its mate lay gloomily-silent in their nest: cursing in a language of their own, the sudden gusts of wind that sent them wildly swinging. The small waterfall still burbled from between its split in the rocks, and fell softly into the pool. Ariana herself was nowhere to be seen…

*****

‘What are you going to do now, Thomas?’ They ha
d just finished a light dinner - omelettes with a cheese filling. Neither felt much like eating, and Izzy was taking small sips from a glass of white wine, Thomas sparkling grape juice. The penthouse’s dining room was elevated above the floor of the lounge, and softly lit by dimmed orangey-yellow lights mounted on the walls. The liquid-filled glasses threw long transparent shadows on the cream coloured tablecloth, the silver cutlery dully shone. A huge painting hung against one wall: all lines and strange shapes, and splotches and dashes of colour and shade, and although Thomas couldn’t make head or tails of it, he still thought it very nice.

He clasped his held together hands tightly between his thighs, and with his eyes on his half-full glass, said softly, ‘I was hoping that you would find me
a place in one of your children’s homes, sir.’

Izzy made a cho
king sound and hastily held a large white serviette in front of his mouth, spluttering for a few seconds. When he took it away, he stared at Thomas with huge eyes, aghast. ‘You actually think… you thought…’ He shook his head, disbelievingly. ‘You think I’m going to put you in an orphanage?’ Thomas nodded, silently, his eyes still on the glass, and Izzy asked. ‘Is that why you brought your backpack? Your rucksack? Because you thought I was moving you to a children’s home?’

Thomas nodded again, but this time he met Izzy’s eyes, and his own were large in his pale face. ‘You owe me nothing, Izzy,’ he said. ‘And if I’m not Travelling
… if I’m not helping Rainbow’s End, then why should you help me? Why should you treat me any different from the other children?’

Izzy dropped his head and covered his face with his hands. ‘Oh, damn you Orson,’ he muttered. He sat like that for a long minute, slowly shaking his head from side to side, face still held in the cup of his hands. When at last he lifted his eyes, they hinted of w
et, and he pushed away his wineglass with a grimace of distaste. He looked into Thomas’ eyes.

‘You will never be “just
another” child, Thomas,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t be if you tried.’ He took a deep, ragged breath, and shook his head. ‘Not after… You are…’ His hands and long fingers were grasping at the air, as if to pluck answers from it, casting weird shadows on the tablecloth. ‘How to make you see?’

He suddenly leaned forward and placed a fingertip against Thomas’ forehead. ‘Do you know what you have in there Thomas?’ he asked, with narrowed eyes. ‘Do you have any idea? The knowledge, the wisdom, the
power
…’ He shook his head again, bemusedly, and gave a matching laugh. ‘No,’ he said then, ‘you could never be “just another” child. And not I, nor anybody who knows what you really are, can treat you as one. You are a
Traveller
, Thomas,’ he said to the boy. ‘One in ten, maybe twenty million.’ His words turned measured and intense. ‘You are the closest any human being would ever get to being a god,’
he said, then took a deep breath and a gulp of wine from his pushed-away glass, sat back in his chair.

‘So there,’ he said, exhaling in a long sigh. ‘There you have it.’

They both sat dealing with their thoughts for a minute, and then Thomas asked, tentatively, ‘So… if I’m not to go to an orphanage, what am I going to do? Where am I going to stay? Go to school?’

Izzy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and damned Orson to all kinds of hells again. He said, ‘You really won’t go back? To Rainbow’s End?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I can’t,’ he replied.

Izzy nodded. ‘Let’s leave it at that for now. We’ll talk again tomorrow. I think we c
ould both do with a bit of downtime, an early night. All right?’

Thomas nodded. It had been a long drive, and although he
’d slept through much of it, it was on and off, and troubled. He
wa
s tired.

Izzy looked at his watch. ‘It’s
ten already,’ he said, and then, after looking at Thomas for a long, silent minute, ‘Two things, Thomas, before we retire?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘The first,’ Izzy said, ‘is that, if you decide not ever to go back to Rainbow’s End, you
will
stay here. This is your home on the Earth, and no matter what - I
am
your adoptive father. Your guardian. And proud of it.’

Thomas nodded with downcast eyes
; touched, and also immeasurably relieved. ‘Thank you, Izzy,’ was all he could say, softly.

The old Traveller smiled kindly
, and continued: ‘The second,’ he said, ‘is Pine Cottage, and again, no matter what you decide to do - or not do - it will always be yours. It was where Rose lived, and had I but known; it would have been hers a long time ago.’ He squeezed his eyes tightly shut again for some seconds, then, with a small shake of his head, ‘Be that as it may: all of us need a place of our own, and the cottage is yours. It
has
been since the first time we spoke of it, and I am not in the habit of taking back what I give. A trust fund paying for its upkeep and taxes had been started a while ago, as well… It also pays Mrs. Connolly’s salary… Marge, is it?’ Thomas nodded again, and Izzy stood. ‘Well, that’s that I guess - for tonight, anyway. Shall we retire?’ he asked, smiling, then put his hands in the small of his back and stretched.

Thomas
returned his smile, and also stood, and Izzy waved at the table. ‘Leave this for Mrs. Smithers,’ he said, adding, ‘Remember Thomas, never use your powers on the Earth unless it is really necessary. People notice things - even if we think they don’t. Right now, you are a rich man’s son, and people expect you to behave like one.’

The bedrooms were all in the same wing of the penthouse, and they walked together. At the door of Thomas’ bedroom, Izzy gave him a last smile, and, impulsively, a hug. He was two heads taller, and Thomas felt his gold and diamond tiepin press against the side of his head. He hugged the old man back - hard, and it felt good. Safe.

‘Thank you, Izzy,’ he mumbled, ‘for everything.’

The old Traveller held him away at arm’s length. ‘You are a good boy, Thomas,’ he said, and received a grateful smile in turn. ‘Sleep well.’

That night Thomas slept better than he had in the last ten days, and for the first time
, did not dream of Rainbow’s End.

*

The two long keys, Izzy pointed at them, were for the two safes in his office. The short one for the small safe in his bedroom; several other short ones, some with intricately cut heads, opened the penthouse, his office, the boardroom, etcetera… The two swipe cards were for the lift - To access the jewellery manufacturing floor, and the penthouse. A key with a plastic grip depicting a vehicle manufacturers logo, belonged to the last lorry he had taken to Rainbow’s End, said Izzy. (It had been charcoal-grey, and just as heavily laden as the cherry-red one a month before). A mini horseshoe of gold proved his membership of the horse breeders club (the Rainbow’s End Corporation owned several racehorses, and a majority shareholding in a breeding farm outside Berkshire). The most eye-catching item on the bunch of keys was the short golden chain with a pear-shaped crystal at its end. It lay on the table next to Izzy’s plate, and even in the dimmed lights of Christina’s, glowed a deep orange.

‘Why do you keep your
crystal on your keys, Izzy?’ Thomas asked.

The older Traveller took a few seconds to ponder the question, and its answer, then gave a small shrug and said, ‘I don’t know, really. It just, eventually, turned out to be the most convenient place
; the place that suited me best.’ He laughed. ‘It’s also a wonderful way to make sure you never lose your keys. Many a time I knew I had misplaced them. Even lost them. I have forgotten them in hotel rooms and locked them in my car - before the invention of remote controls, and before I got so busy I had to hire a chauffeur. Yet,’ a small shrug and a deprecatory smile, ‘they always, somehow, end up back in my pocket.’ Izzy glanced at Thomas’ shirt’s undone top button. ‘You wear yours around your neck, don’t you?’ he asked.

Thomas nodded. ‘And around my wrist when I use it,’ he said.

‘Everyone does, in the beginning,’ Izzy took a sip of water. ‘All Travellers. But they all eventually settle on a place that suits them best, or a place they like. Chester had his on the hilt of his sword; Gwendolynne wore hers in her hair; Inez hers on a chain she used as a belt - she has the hips for it, I suppose; a few used staffs - like Orson; some never changed - wore it around their necks for all of their Travelling-days…’

*

Back from Christina’s… They’d finished their baths and were dressed in pyjamas, dressing gowns and slippers; relaxing in the sunken lounge of the penthouse. Thomas was paging through a book of award-winning nature scene pictures; Izzy sipped at his night-time whiskey and watched the boy with kind eyes. The young Traveller had spent most of that and the previous day with him in the office, learning more of how the various businesses were run, and Izzy had felt sorry for him every time he had to field questions from employees about how his grandfather, Mr. Frazier, was doing. But he’d handled it well, and Izzy was proud of him.